


here all the bombs fade away

by onlytheendoftheworldagain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, human cas, post s8 fluff or something..
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlytheendoftheworldagain/pseuds/onlytheendoftheworldagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has had faith in the last few weeks - he's needed it - not only in an unreachable god but in the sting of cold air and Earth under his feet. This faith burns with a proven certainty different to the unquestionable laws of Heaven, and it burns a lot, lot brighter with Dean's chest under his head and one loosely stretched arm. Each breath shifts his neck a little uncomfortably and it's hard to open his eyes for long.<br/>Dean feels like gravity itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here all the bombs fade away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdurnaSkulblaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdurnaSkulblaka/gifts).



It takes Castiel three weeks to find his way home, three weeks of dirt and buses and maps and passing out on the pavement because suddenly this body was itself again, and there was no spark to stop it from dragging him down. Everything is so quiet as a human, everything looks dull and blurry, and looking back on old memories for too long makes his head burn because they were all recorded in a definition that humans just weren't meant for. His connections to the world around him feel frayed and old, but his sense of self is suddenly at the centre of everything like it never used to be. His life doesn't revolve around God, or Dean - his life revolves around him, and not having someone else to define himself by feels a little like a void in his head, underlying everything else, so he doesn't think about it.  
When he arrives at the bunker he starts to doubt himself, and think maybe, what if, he was only ever useful? What if now, without wings or grace or superhuman strength, he will do nothing but take up space? He's let them down a hundred times before, though, and Dean's still said "I need you," they've still taken him back and their anger's always been won over by loyalty and trust, even when it wasn't deserved. Castiel hopes, and he can understand so much better, now, why the Winchesters have always kept trying, for him and each other and the whole world. Even when pain and misery has outweighed all the good they've done, it's been worth it just for trying. And if he isn't wanted just for the sake of being Castiel, he can learn to fight as a human. It will be worth it.  
He knocks on the door, and it's a lot quieter than he expected. There's no reply for almost three minutes, so he knocks again, harder, and this time its not very long until it's opened by Sam. He looks tired and irritated and stares for a few seconds before he really registers just who he's looking at.  
"Cas?" He nods uncertainly and is taken off guard when Sam grabs him into a crushing hug. It lasts for a bit too long before Sam suddenly steps back, like he only just noticed Castiel. "Uh, hi."  
"Hello." He's very, very aware of how awkward it is. Sam looks like he's got so many things to say and do that they're canceling each other out into still silence.  
"Sam! Learn to shut the damn door, will you?"  
Seeing Dean is like swallowing ice, or coals, or both. The tiny lines of irritation between his eyes fade into shock and it's all so beautiful, everything is beautiful here on this planet built of soil and contradictions, but this is its own category of beautiful, the kind that deserves monuments and wonder and angel's falls and all the pain Castiel can take to guard it. Dean takes a step back and pulls an exceptionally inelegant face. "Cas!?"  
"Yes, I-" He's interrupted by another armful of Winchester. He takes the opportunity to duck his head down briefly with eyes shut and neatly pace his breaths, and maybe curl his fingers in Dean's shirt, just a little.  
"Cas, where were you? We tried to look for you, we didn't know what the hell happened. Cas. What the hell happened?" He says his name like he could lose it.  
He leans back and looks at Cas with confusion-tinged seriousness.  
"Metatron. He tricked me, I believed him. He's closed the gates of Heaven. Everyone has fallen. I was fairly lucky; he took my Grace and placed me on Earth, so I didn't-"  
"Fall. Right." Sam's concerned and trying so hard to work it all out, but he won't, Castiel hasn't, and he was an angel.  
"I did fall-"  
"But not in the flaming celestial featherball way," Dean says.  
"No. My fall was comparatively peaceful. I am worried, though, that Metatron took my Grace specifically. I don't know what was unique about my situation, but I assume that it was somehow the final requirement to shut the gates of Heaven." By the last few words he can't keep his voice steady against a combination of relief and bone-deep exhaustion. Dean looks concerned, but Sam understands.  
"D'you wanna come inside and get cleaned up?" Cas nods and follows him inside with Dean, who closes the door behind them.  
The bunker is a labyrinth but only a few rooms are set up for domestic use. He's shown to a bathroom and given a t-shirt and pajama trousers that are only a little too big. Cas is too tired to shower right now, but he washes his face and changes into the borrowed clothes and feels a little better. His mouth tastes awful, so he sorts through the various products piled haphazardly by the sink until he finds mouthwash, and carefully follows the instructions printed on the label.  
The Winchesters are talking outside about beds. Sam refuses to give his up, and Dean is adamant that he won't share his, or sleep anywhere else, or make Cas sleep without a proper bed. Cas leaves the bathroom in time to hear "Look, you can just stay up and sleep in the morning for all I care. Whatever'll make you shut up and leave me to sleep."  
Dean looks at Cas briefly, then roles his eyes and says "C'mon." He glares at Sam's back a bit as he walks away, then leads Cas to his room.  
It's far too early for a Winchester worth their salt to sleep, so Dean leaves Cas on his bed with the overhead lights off and the desk lamp on. Cas expects to fall asleep alone, but it must be less than an hour of staring at the guns on the wall in the half-dark before Dean steps into the room carefully and turns the light off. Cas isn't sure, but he thinks he can hear the faint sound of Sam laughing somewhere in the corridor, maybe. Dean must have thought Cas would be sleeping, because he starts when Cas turns over and makes eye contact with him.  
Dean is immediately very awkward, so Cas shuts his eyes and rolls over again, and after some deliberation Dean lies down in the space Cas has left, careful not to touch him. It's only three minutes until ignoring the vague heat of another body next to him just seems too stupid, so Cas turns back again and presses his forehead to Dean's shoulder and his knees to his thighs. It's another five until Dean relaxes completely and Cas knows that even though he's as mortal as anything could be, in the house of two brothers who seem to spontaneously generate danger and tragedy when there is none, he is the safest he ever wanted to be.  
Castiel has had faith in the last few weeks - he's needed it - not only in an unreachable god but in the sting of cold air and Earth under his feet. This faith burns with a proven certainty different to the unquestionable laws of Heaven, and it burns a lot, lot brighter with Dean's chest under his head and one loosely stretched arm. Each breath shifts his neck a little uncomfortably and it's hard to open his eyes for long.  
Dean feels like gravity itself.  
Castiel is still three week's worth of dirty. Dean runs a thumb down the length of one shoulder blade that still tingles with the loss of a wing's weight, and the pressure makes the feeling die down just to burst back brighter and spread, in his throat and chest and stomach like swallowing embers. He levers himself up a little with one arm, high enough to kiss Dean's jaw at an awkward angle before dropping back down under his own weight.  
Dean freezes, then says "shit" quietly. Then louder, "Cas. Cas, what're you-"  
"Shh." Cas flattens one palm against Dean's chest and presses lightly. Dean stops talking and looses a little tension. It's enough. Cas falls into the hazy edge of sleep, which is very different here than it was on cold damp street corners. It's very nearly far enough to not notice Dean carefully move out from under his head to lie down next to him, a good ten centimetres between them. It's also nearly far enough a minute or so later not to notice a quiet, closed kiss across his mouth, and to kiss back ever so slightly.


End file.
